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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26275609">one single gold thread (tied you to me)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em_Jaye/pseuds/Em_Jaye'>Em_Jaye</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Darcy Lewis Bingo 2020, F/M, First Time, Idiots in Love, Loss of Virginity, Love at First Sight, Mail Order Brides, Mutual Pining, Post-Civil War, Small Towns, not that one</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:35:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,662</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26275609</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em_Jaye/pseuds/Em_Jaye</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Thank you, ma’am,” he said with a polite nod. “I’m looking to place an ad,” he said after a moment of expectant silence passed between them, with Daisy looking from one to the other.</p>
<p>“Buying or selling?” Daisy asked, reaching for the pen and the registry for him to sign his name.</p>
<p>“Neither,” he said quickly. “It’s a—um—well. I’m looking for a wife?”</p>
<p>Darcy felt her eyebrows lift in surprise. If this man had trouble finding a wife, she thought with a laugh she kept to herself, there really was no hope for the rest of them.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>127</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>626</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Darcy Lewis Bingo</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>one single gold thread (tied you to me)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For Darcy Lewis Bingo 2020:<br/>R-1: "Yes, I did."<br/>C-4: Rain</p>
<p>What's this? Another AU no one asked for? </p>
<p>Correct! </p>
<p>This time we have a mail-order-bride AU with a twist, inspired by this thing I found (https://americanupbeat.com/life/150-year-old-personal-ad-goes-viral) and couldn't get out of my head. Title comes from Tay, as will nearly all titles until my heart has recovered from Folklore and I'm not certain that will ever happen.</p>
<p>PS: No betas, we die like men. And I really reined in my desire to make this entirely historically accurate. It's probably riddled with errors and we're all just going to be okay with that. Fair warning: this is about as self-indulgent as it gets. I'm sure this is not, like, anyone's cup of tea. But it was mine. I had so much fun writing this fic I wanted to pinch its little cheeks the whole time. I really hope you guys like it too.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>July 15<sup>th</sup> 1870 </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The office of <em>The North Tarrytown Examiner</em> was nothing more than a small storefront on the northmost end of Main Street, a few blocks up from the harbor. Two and a half offices downstairs, three upstairs, and a platen press in the basement. Only two women worked for the small paper and both were stationed downstairs. Daisy sat at the front desk and kept track of everyone who came through the door. Darcy’s office was in the front of the building—close enough to be distracted from her own work by nearly everything that went on outside her door. It was what she considered to be the half-office. She was fairly certain it had once just been a closet.</p>
<p>“Miss Lewis?” Daisy called, offering a welcome distraction from the ads Darcy was proof-reading for the third time.</p>
<p>Inside her stuffy quarters, Darcy looked up from the paper in her hand and blotted at her hairline with her handkerchief. “What is it, Daisy?”</p>
<p>“It’s a man,” Daisy paused. “He’s…standing out on the porch.”</p>
<p>Darcy frowned and got up, grateful for an excuse to walk to the part of the office where at least a cross-breeze came through. “Well…” she tilted her head to the side as she stopped to lean in her doorway. “They do that on occasion.”</p>
<p>Daisy smiled and shook her head. “I don’t think he can decide if he wants to come in or not.”</p>
<p>Her frown deepened as curiosity won out and she stepped to see what Daisy was talking about. There was indeed a man on the porch. Broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped from what she could see through the frosted glass of the front door. They watched, amused, as he approached and nearly put a hand on the door, only to stop and turn around, back down the steps.</p>
<p>“He’s done that twice already,” Daisy informed her with a cheeky grin. “Do you think he’s lost?”</p>
<p>“Let’s find out,” Darcy shrugged and opened the door without waiting for their potential guest to try a fourth time. “Can I help you, sir?”</p>
<p>He’d made it as far as the street by the time she called out to him. When he turned around, Darcy saw his face was just as handsome as the rest of him and she felt her smile double when a blush rose to his cheeks. “Uh, I was just—” he coughed and glanced down at his shoes. “Couldn’t quite decide if I was coming all the way in.”</p>
<p>She waited for him to look back up again before she waved him inside. “Depends on what you’re looking for,” she reasoned, pleased when he ascended the steps again and crossed the threshold this time. Immediately he reached up and removed his hat, absently patting down thick hair the color of straw. “But we’ll do our best to help you if we can.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, ma’am,” he said with a polite nod. “I’m looking to place an ad,” he said after a moment of expectant silence passed between them, with Daisy looking from one to the other.</p>
<p>“Buying or selling?” Daisy asked, reaching for the pen and the registry for him to sign his name.</p>
<p>“Neither,” he said quickly. “It’s a—um—well. I’m looking for a wife?”</p>
<p>Darcy felt her eyebrows lift in surprise. If <em>this </em>man had trouble finding a wife, she thought with a laugh she kept to herself, there really was no hope for the rest of them.</p>
<p>Daisy had brightened in the meantime. “You’ll want to talk to Miss Lewis about that,” she said, pointing in Darcy’s direction. “She writes all the personal ads.”</p>
<p>“Right this way, Mr.…”</p>
<p>“Rogers, ma’am,” he said when she beckoned for him to follow her. “Steve Rogers.”</p>
<p>She closed the door behind him and shuffled past to get back to her desk. Her cramped little broom cupboard seemed to shrink even more around him. She offered him her hand. “Darcy Lewis,” she said when they shook. “It’s very nice to meet you. Please have a seat.”</p>
<p>“Lewis,” he repeated with a nod as he pulled out the other chair and sat down. “Any relation to the new doctor?”</p>
<p>“That’s my brother, Daniel,” she nodded. “Do you know him?”</p>
<p>Steve nodded. “Saved my best friend’s arm last summer.”</p>
<p>She grimaced. “I remember that,” she admitted. “That was right after we moved here. Accident with a thresher, wasn’t it?” She remembered that accident vividly. Her brother hadn’t even had time to set up his practice when word had come in that his help was needed. It had kept him out day and night for the bulk of their whole first two weeks in town, leaving her to fend for herself unpacking their belongings and settling them both into the empty house their aunt had left for him.</p>
<p>He nodded again. “Not sure anyone else would have worked as hard to make sure he could keep it.”</p>
<p>She smiled. “That’s Dan, for ya. Nearly lost causes are his specialty.” She reached for her notebook and pencil. “Now, Mr. Rogers, before we get started I want to make sure you understand that I only write the ads and pass on the replies,” she looked up from where she’d written his name neatly at the top of the page. “I’m not a matchmaker.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” he shook his head, pink at the ears again. “No, ma’am. I understand. Actually, the friend I just mentioned, you wrote the ad that found him his wife. Bucky Barnes?”</p>
<p>She brightened again. “Oh, yes, I did.” She remembered Bucky’s left arm being held in a sling. His kind blue eyes and easy smile. She remembered thinking that whoever answered his ad was one lucky lady. And she remembered hoping that young Russian woman who’d arrived on the train, with her fiery red hair and attitude to match, was a perfect fit for him. She must have been, because they were married only a month later, just before Christmas. She cleared her throat and tapped the lead to the paper once. “So, what kind of wife are you hoping to find, Mr. Rogers?”</p>
<p>“I don’t have much of a preference,” he said quietly, glancing down at his shoes again. “And it’s Steve,” he added. “You can just call me Steve.”</p>
<p>She smiled. “Alright,” she agreed. “Tell me about yourself, Steve.”</p>
<p>He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. “Well, I’m twenty-four years old and I’m in good health. I’ve got twenty acres just a few miles outside of town—it’s not much, but I’ve done a lot with it. Mostly oats and potatoes, but there’s a few cows and some sheep—” Darcy couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her lips as she stopped writing. “What?” Steve asked, a half-smile coming to his lips.</p>
<p>“Nothing,” she shook her head before she changed her mind and told him the truth. “I’m not looking for a wife for your farm,” she reminded gently. “I’m looking for one for you.”</p>
<p>He laughed softly, that blush returning as easily as it faded. “Right,” he nodded. “I’m—uh—not so good at this, I guess.”</p>
<p>Darcy felt something in her heart twist unexpectedly and she forced herself to take a deep breath. “Let’s talk about what you’re hoping for,” she suggested. “Maybe it’ll be easier to work backwards from that. You’re going to have to give me a little more to go on than just a wife.” She gave him a once-over, noting his strong shoulders and arms, the square cut of his jaw and his nice, full lips. “I don’t want to find you anyone too old,” she said breezily, blaming the sweat that broke out on her palms on the July heat. “I’m sure you want children someday, yes?”</p>
<p>“Sure,” he shrugged like he’d hardly thought about it. “If that’s what she wants.”</p>
<p>Darcy blinked. If that’s what <em>she </em>wants? She wanted to repeat him, to make sure she’d heard him correctly. “And it’d be helpful, I’d guess, if she’s worked a farm before,” she went on, trying not to focus too much on his first answer. “Given what you just told me.” There were other papers she could run this ad in, she decided. She had friends at rags in Pennsylvania and Ohio and even as far as Iowa. There were plenty of sweet farm girls who’d be thrilled to be Mrs. Steve Rogers if she got the wording right.</p>
<p>“I’m not too worried about that,” he admitted, and Darcy’s pencil stopped again. She looked up, surprised. “I’ve got enough help,” he went on. “I’m just looking for someone to—” he stopped and glanced down again, clearing his throat before he looked up and rolled a shoulder in another shrug. “Someone to provide for, I guess. Take care of. Talk to.” He looked almost embarrassed to be saying any of this out loud but kept going. “And sure, a family sounds nice but if it’s just the two of us, that’s fine by me too. So long as she’s the right one.”</p>
<p>Darcy opened her mouth and closed it again, unsure of what to say to that. Usually the men looking for wives were widowers looking for mothers for their children—or themselves—or extra sets of hands in the field. Someone to cook and look after them. They had pragmatic lists, certain things they wanted or didn’t want. It made the writing incredibly easy, if Darcy was being honest, even if it didn’t always leave her with the best feeling in her stomach.</p>
<p>She set her pencil down and studied the man across the desk from her. “I think you might be a bit of a special case, Steve Rogers,” she said after a long moment.</p>
<p>“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” he asked with another half-smile and Darcy felt that twist in her chest again.</p>
<p>“A good thing,” she assured him. “But it does mean I’m going to have to work a little harder than I usually do.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” a look of worry crossed his face. “You don’t have to go to any extra trouble—”</p>
<p>“I won’t,” she said, fluffing away his concern. “But I want to make sure I write you something good,” she added with a smile. “Something that finds you just the right girl.”</p>
<p>“I appreciate that, ma’am,” he said with a nod. “Just don’t put yourself out over me.”</p>
<p>She shook her head. “No, nothing like that. But I may take just a little extra time if that’s alright with you.” Her eyes fell to the small calendar at the corner of her desk. “I can have it in ten different papers around the country by the middle of August, unless you’re in more of a hurry than that.”</p>
<p>It was his turn to shake his head. “No ma’am,” he said. “I thought fall sounds like a nice time to get married but,” he shrugged and did not finish his sentence.</p>
<p>She lifted her eyebrows again. “Any reason?” She’d always thought the same, but she didn’t think he needed to hear her say that.</p>
<p>“Less work on the farm when it snows,” he said, tilting his head to one side in consideration. “If we got married in the fall, after the harvest, we’d have all the next few months to get to know each other before the real work starts back up in the spring.”</p>
<p>Without warning or permission, Darcy’s focus centered on the way he said <em>get to know each other</em> and she found herself wondering what that would be like. Wondering if he had a wood stove or a proper fireplace to sit in front of while the predictable New York winter raged outside. What it’d be like to go to sleep with him to keep her warm. What it’d be like to <em>not </em>go to sleep, but stay up and—</p>
<p>“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Darcy said out loud, trying to derail her imagination. She could blame the flush on her cheeks on the lack of air circulation in the office if he asked; although she suspected he was too polite to comment on any part of her appearance. She forced down all of the thoughts fueled by the tawdry romance novels she hid from everyone and stood up with a firm, professional smile. She extended her hand again. “I’ll do my best to have a proof for you just as soon as I can,” she promised.</p>
<p>They shook hand and she told herself she didn’t notice this time that his hand was nearly twice the size of hers, warm and calloused. “There’s no rush,” he assured her. “And please, don’t go to any extra trouble on my account.” He made it to the door before he stopped and looked back with a shy smile. “I talked myself out of this ten different times,” he admitted quietly. “I appreciate you being so professional, Miss Lewis.”</p>
<p>For the third time in only a few minutes, Darcy thought for certain her heart was melting. She managed another smile. “Of course,” she said, leaning slightly forward on her desk. “And you can call me Darcy, if you’d like.”</p>
<p>His smile broadened and he nodded. “I would,” he said. “Thank you.”</p>
<p>She managed to wait until he’d left the building before she dropped down into her chair and put her head in her hands. “Oh boy,” she muttered to her empty office.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>July 20<sup>th</sup> 1870</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Steve didn’t have need to go to the butcher very often. The hundred and sixty acres that butted up against his small farm belonged to Sam Wilson who, along with being a good man and a good friend and a good neighbor, also raised some damn fine cattle and sold Steve whatever he needed at a fair price.</p>
<p>But he wasn’t at the butcher’s for beef. He was there with a mind for some pork chops and bacon and Sam’s pigs just weren’t ready for slaughter.</p>
<p>There were two people ahead of him in line giving him plenty of time for his mind to wander. He let it go back a few days to that uncomfortably small and overheated office and let himself wonder again if that had been a good idea. He still wasn’t sure. Even with Bucky singing the praises of Miss Lewis’ personal ads and telling him that Natasha was the best thing that had ever happened to him—as if that wasn’t abundantly clear, even from half a mile away because those two <em>refused</em> to close the windows—he still couldn’t shake his nerves about the whole thing.</p>
<p>What if no one answered his ad? Ever? How long did they run an ad before it became clear that no one was interested? His stomach unwillingly knotted at the thought. Or what if someone did, but she was all wrong and she hated him after a month? What if—</p>
<p>“That’s not the price on the board,” a familiar voice cut through the noise in his head and Steve looked up, surprised to find Darcy Lewis at the front of the line, her dark curly hair pinned back away from her face, wearing a blue dress that he suspected matched her eyes.</p>
<p>The butcher was a tired man with thinning white hair, a thick white mustache, and more lines on his face each time Steve paid him a visit. “The price on the board is by the dozen,” he said calmly.</p>
<p>“By the dozen?” Darcy repeated. “There’s only my brother and me at this dinner table, Mr. Lee. What on earth am I going to do with a dozen pork chops?”</p>
<p>The older man sighed heavily. “I’m not sure, Miss Lewis. But maybe you could meet a nice man and get married and have some children and then a dozen pork chops wouldn’t seem like quite so many.” He raised his eyebrows. “What do you think?”</p>
<p>Steve could almost hear the way Darcy’s eyes narrowed at the suggestion. “I think that sounds like an awful lot of effort over a few pennies’ worth of savings, to be perfectly honest with you.” Steve hid his chuckle behind a cough while the butcher stared back, unimpressed, until Darcy let out a cavernous sigh. “I suppose I’ll just have you wrap up four of your finest <em>unfairly priced </em>porkchops, please.”</p>
<p>“Sure thing,” came the muttered response as the man behind the counter got to work on wrapping her chops.</p>
<p>She paid without further complaint and turned from the counter, stopping short when she caught sight of him. “Oh!” Her cheeks turned pink as she folded her arms over the parcel she’d just been given. “Hello, Mr. Rogers.”</p>
<p>“Miss Lewis,” he nodded with a smile, stepping out of line to greet her.</p>
<p>“I thought I told you to call me Darcy,” she reminded.</p>
<p>“I would have,” he countered, surprising himself with his easy answer. “If you’d remembered to call me Steve.”</p>
<p>“I was trying to be polite,” she said pointedly, looking up at him through long, dark eyelashes. “But I suppose the jig is up if you overheard my disagreement with our friend, the butcher.”</p>
<p>Steve laughed and shook his head, taking a step ahead of her when she glanced toward the door. He held it for her, following her out into the warm afternoon. “You made a very strong case,” he assured her. “Shouldn’t be that much of a difference to buy for two as it does to buy for a whole family.”</p>
<p>She smiled as she stepped down the few steps and into the sunshine. Her nose wrinkled when she squinted against the bright light. “What are you doing at the butcher’s anyway?” she asked lightly. “I thought you had cows on your farm.”</p>
<p>He grinned, shaking his head. “I have dairy cows,” he corrected. “Whole lot would have to go wrong before I took them in for slaughter.”</p>
<p>“Right,” she nodded, looking like she was taking notes with her eyes.  She looked curious. “How many cows do you have?”</p>
<p>“Just two,” he said, oddly pleased when his answer brought a broad smile to her face. “And two calves about two months old.”</p>
<p>Darcy appeared thoughtful, like she was studying him again. “I was wondering if I could—” she stopped and bit her lip. “Do think I could come and see the farm for myself?”</p>
<p>Steve blinked. “My farm?”</p>
<p>She laughed. “No, Andrew Johnson’s farm,” she joked before she went on. “Of course, your farm. Would you be opposed to a visitor?”</p>
<p>“No,” he said immediately, not wanting to sound rude. “You’re welcome any time…not sure why you’d want to though,” he added after a moment to think about it. He hardly knew Darcy at all, but he was almost certain she wasn’t the type of woman who got a kick out of farm work.</p>
<p>“For your ad, of course,” she said easily. “The more I thought about it, the more I felt bad I didn’t let you finish describing a place that means so much to you. I thought if I could see it for myself, I’d be able to put in a few lines and entice someone else to come and pay you a visit.”</p>
<p>Steve nodded, taken aback by how dedicated she seemed to be to writing something that would find him a wife. “That sounds…fine,” he said after a moment. It sounded better than fine, if he was being honest. It sounded very nice.</p>
<p>“How about Saturday? Around lunch time?”</p>
<p>He nodded again before he remembered something about himself and rubbed self-consciously at the back of his neck. “I should warn you, I’m not the greatest cook in the world.”</p>
<p>But Darcy only smiled. “I can bring us lunch,” she offered. “And you can introduce me to your cows.”</p>
<p>Steve laughed. “That sounds like a fair trade.”</p>
<p>They said their goodbyes; Darcy went one direction while he went the other. He’d nearly made it all the way back to where he’d tied up his horse before he realized he’d forgotten to buy anything from the butcher.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bucky set down the dishes with a heavy <em>clunk </em>and stared across the table at him. “You invited her to your house?”</p>
<p>Steve looked up from placing the silverware, confused. “Not exactly,” he admitted. “She sort of…invited herself.”</p>
<p>Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Did she say why?”</p>
<p>He shrugged. “It’s part of what she does when she writes these ads, I think.” He set a place for Natasha and moved on to where Bucky usually sat. “She said she wanted to see the place for herself, so she got it right when she mentioned it.”</p>
<p>Bucky was still staring when Natasha came in to set a bowl of carrots on the table. She looked from one to the other. “No plates?” she asked of her husband. The thick Russian accent she’d arrived with last November was fading a little more each day. “What’s the matter?”</p>
<p>He shook his head and returned his attention to setting the table. “Steve’s got a lady coming up on Saturday.”</p>
<p>Natasha brightened and turned back to Steve. “Which lady?” she asked before her expression wrinkled again. “And you should take her somewhere nice first,” she said. “Not just ask her to come here.”</p>
<p>“It’s not like that,” Steve insisted.</p>
<p>“Not like what?” Natasha countered. “Don’t you like her?”</p>
<p>“Sure, I like her,” he said with another shrug. Because he did. She was sweet and funny and outspoken—he liked all those things. “But it’s not how Buck’s making it sound,” he continued. “She’s not coming up expecting a date.”</p>
<p>Natasha’s lips dipped for a moment before she reached for her water glass. “I’ll still come over,” she suggested. “Make you something to offer her.”</p>
<p>He smiled and shook his head. “That’s alright,” he promised. “She said she’d bring lunch.”</p>
<p>Bucky looked up again, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You know she didn’t do that when she wrote my ad, right?”</p>
<p>Steve shifted his weight from one foot to the other and took a little extra care in making sure the last fork was dead center on the folded napkin before he looked up. “I’m sure she’s just being thorough.”</p>
<p>“Seems like it,” Bucky muttered with another grin before Natasha smacked his arm.</p>
<p>“There’s nothing wrong with that,” she said kindly before she came around to where Steve was standing and stretched up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “The whole point of this is to find someone just as wonderful as he is.”</p>
<p>Steve waited until Natasha had returned to the kitchen before he stuck his tongue out at Bucky like they were ten years old. His best friend rolled his eyes. “If he’s so wonderful, how come you married me?” he asked.</p>
<p>“I was not made aware of all my options at the time!” Natasha called back without missing a beat.</p>
<p>Steve laughed the rest of the way through dinner and nearly forgot to be nervous about Darcy’s visit.</p>
<p>Nearly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>July 25<sup>th</sup> 1870</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Dan Lewis watched his sister bustle around the kitchen of their inherited house with a hum of energy he hadn’t seen from her in years. He’d been out until three o’clock delivering a set of twins to Mrs. Maximoff and blamed his lack of sleep for his confusion. “And…why are you going to visit this man, again?”</p>
<p>“For work,” Darcy said, not looking up as she picked up fresh molasses cookies from a plate and wrapped them in a napkin.</p>
<p>“What kind of ads have they got you writing now?” he asked, not bothering to conceal a yawn while he reached for his coffee.</p>
<p>“Still personals,” she scoffed.</p>
<p>He watched his sister place her cookies in a basket. “How long are you going to be gone?”</p>
<p>She looked up, on the cusp of irritated. “Just for a few hours.”</p>
<p>He nodded to her basket. “You look like you’re packing for a journey.”</p>
<p>Darcy rolled her eyes and managed to look exactly like their mother. “It’s just lunch.”</p>
<p>She moved past him toward the dining room, looking for extra linens in the hutch, giving him a chance to get up and look into what she’d packed. Chicken, grapes, a jar of pickled eggs and another of sweet pickles, cookies she’d baked that morning. “Is there a reason you’re not telling me anything about the man you’re visiting?”</p>
<p>The drawer closed and his sister returned with their picnic blanket and a few more napkins. “Because it’s none of your business.”</p>
<p>He laughed and nodded. “That’s fair,” he relented. “Alright, give me a minute to get ready, I’ll drive you.”</p>
<p>“I’ll drive myself.’”</p>
<p>He sighed. “Darcy…”</p>
<p>She mimicked him. “Daniel…”</p>
<p>“No one likes it when you drive yourself anywhere.”</p>
<p>“<em>I </em>like it,” she reminded him. “Forgive me for not wringing my hands over what the old ladies in town think.”</p>
<p>“What if I’m called out?”</p>
<p>“Excellent news!” she cried, stepping around him to finish packing her picnic basket. He could taste the sarcasm. "I've managed to put my feeble female brain to the task of basic arithmetic and am fairly certain that if we have two horses and I only require one of them for my visit that still leaves you with..." she frowned pretending to think. "Is it...one? One left?"</p>
<p>Dan leaned against the counter and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I worry about you.”</p>
<p>“And I worry about you,” she reminded him breezily before she turned and folded her arms over her chest. “But I’m a grown woman who is more than capable of visiting a friend in the middle of a sunny afternoon without an escort or a chaperone.”</p>
<p>He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, so he’s a friend, is he? I thought this was for work.”</p>
<p>“Mama always said you can never have too many friends,” she said, offering her brother an innocent look. “What better way to make one than with freshly baked cookies?”</p>
<p>He peered around her to check the countertop. “Speaking of, did you save any of those for me?”</p>
<p>She grinned. “No.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Darcy liked Steve’s house. It was nothing fancy, but well-built with large windows and a nice, wide porch with a swing. They were both hungry by the time she arrived, and Steve was only too happy to help her spread out a blanket beneath the red oak tree in the front yard and unpack the food she’d brought.</p>
<p>“Can I ask you something?” Steve asked while they worked their way though lunch.</p>
<p>“Certainly,” she replied sweetly before she popped a grape into her mouth.</p>
<p>“Do you always visit the folks who place ads with you?”</p>
<p>Darcy felt her cheeks go pink. “On occasion,” she fibbed. “When presented with a moderately difficult case such as yourself.”</p>
<p>He smiled and her stomach flipped again. “You’re going to start hurting my feelings if you keep telling me how difficult I am.”</p>
<p>She bit her lip. “I never said it was a bad thing,” she reminded. “You’re a bit of a puzzle, Steve Rogers.”</p>
<p>He laughed and looked down for a moment. “I’m not really…you can ask me anything you need to.”</p>
<p>She thought about it for a moment before she smiled. “I’m still studying,” she admitted. “But I reserve the right to ask you what I can’t riddle out on my own.”</p>
<p>“Alright,” he agreed easily.</p>
<p>“There actually is one thing—”</p>
<p>“That was fast,” he laughed.</p>
<p>“It’s been nagging at me since I met you,” she said, hoping she could phrase her question in a way that didn’t offend him. “Why—” she bit her lip. “What made you want to…” She started over. “I guess I’m not sure why you’re placing an ad with my paper when you’re…” <em>So handsome, </em>her mind finished for her. <em>And sweet. And— </em>“Honestly, you’re not the type I usually find wives for.” Bucky Barnes hadn’t been the type either, she recalled. But she remembered thinking that with his injured arm—at the time it was still uncertain if he’d ever use it again—it was understandable that he was still self-conscious enough to want to skip the formalities of traditional courtship. But Steve… Steve made no sense.</p>
<p>On the other corner of the blanket, Steve shrugged, a little pink stained the top of his cheeks. “I’m…not good with talking to ladies,” he said and glanced down. “I was real small and skinny when I was younger and then by the time I wasn’t, the country was torn in half and then I was taking care of my mother and I just never…” he coughed. “Learned how to talk to one without putting my foot in my mouth. I guess. I always say the wrong thing or I get too nervous and I clam up.”</p>
<p>She squinted. “I don’t believe that,” she said lightly. “You’ve been talking to me just fine and I’m a lady.”</p>
<p>“Sure,” he agreed. “But you're a professional.”</p>
<p>She lifted her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?” she asked with a laugh.</p>
<p>Steve’s eyes widened and his blush deepened. “Not like—that’s not what I meant—” he insisted and shook his head. “Well, there you have it,” he said. “First-hand experience.” She smothered a smile between her lips as he continued. “I just meant that you aren’t a…” he coughed and started again. “You're a journalist. Is all.”</p>
<p>“Ooh,” Darcy winced. “Don’t let the men I work for hear you say that,” she said. “They would wholeheartedly disagree.”</p>
<p>He frowned. “Why’s that?”</p>
<p>She shrugged, even though she knew. “I’ve been there for just over a year now and the most they’ll let me do is write the ad copy. Even though we’ve been short someone to cover events for the last ten months since Bruce moved up to Boston and I’m sitting right there, correcting all their grammar,” she sighed, a little piece of her hair fluttered in front of her face. “They’d rather I not work there at all,” she said. “Having Daisy and I around interrupts their boys club. But no one else wants to lower themselves to write the personals or the classifieds so.” She shrugged. “That’s what I’m good for.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure you're good for more than that,” Steve said. “I’ve read the things your write for your ads,” he added, surprising her. “You turn them into stories—it makes the whole section fun to read.”</p>
<p>She smiled and tried to push away the flutter in her belly. “Thank you.”</p>
<p>He glanced down for a moment and then back up to meet her gaze. “Mind if I ask something else?”</p>
<p>She blinked. “About me?” she asked dumbly before she caught herself and shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”</p>
<p>“What brought you out of the city?”</p>
<p>“How do you know I’m from the city?” she asked with a laugh and reached for another grape.</p>
<p>Steve chuckled. “Aren’t you?”</p>
<p>She couldn’t help her grin. “Yes, of course I am,” she admitted. “As for what brought me here,” she shrugged. “It’s just my brother and I—our parents passed away about ten years ago—”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his smile fading.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” she said automatically, before she continued. “But we were living in Brooklyn for most of my life and costs just kept going up and up so when Aunt Maria died and left Daniel everything, it only made sense to come here.”</p>
<p>He was studying her now. She felt a little like squirming under the weight of his gaze. “But you don’t like it.”</p>
<p>“I never said that,” she argued lightly. “It’s just…taken longer to adjust than I thought it would. Not to mention if Dan—” she stopped and shook her head. “Never mind.”</p>
<p>“No,” he urged lightly. “If Dan does what?”</p>
<p>Darcy took in a breath and wrinkled her nose. “I tend to worry about things that might not happen,” she confessed. “And the thing I worry about now that we live here is that… At home, there are boarding houses all over the place. If Dan were to get married when we lived in Brooklyn, I’d be fine with packing my things and moving in to one of them. But here there’s only one,” she frowned, thinking of the twenty-room lodging house that catered to the fishermen and longshoremen who worked the harbor. “And they don’t allow women.” When she looked up from where her gaze had fallen to the jar of pickled eggs, Steve was still looking at her with curiosity. “I think I’d feel more at home if I could feel more at ease about my future is all.”</p>
<p>“Is Dan planning on getting married?” Steve asked.</p>
<p>“Someday,” she shrugged again. “At least, that’s what he says. And it’s not as though he’d toss me out on the street to make room for his new wife,” she went on quickly. “But my own prospects are slightly more limited now that we’re here instead of the city.”</p>
<p>He smiled softly. “And don’t you want to get married someday?”</p>
<p>Darcy bit her lip, wondering if she was ever going to do anything other than blush like a schoolgirl in this man’s presence. “I’d consider it,” she said evenly. “Should the right man come along. Someone who doesn’t just want to boss me around like everyone else in my life.” The words fell from her lips before she could stop them. She didn’t need to be telling him this. But she kept going. “Or worse. Someone who just wants a mother…or a servant.” She looked down again and cleared her throat, settling for a joke to break the hint of tension she felt between them. “Although, I may be making these lists and worrying for nothing again,” she added, looking up with a grin. “I’m sure you’ve noticed the hordes of admirers I have around me at all times.”</p>
<p>“I have,” Steve agreed. “I had to shoot a few while I was waiting for you to pull up,” he joked. “They were scaring the cows.”</p>
<p>Darcy’s eyes lit up. “Speaking of,” she said, shifting her legs beneath her and dusting cookie crumbs from her dress. “I believe you promised me an introduction.”</p>
<p>He laughed and nodded. “I did indeed.” He was on his feet first and offered a hand to help her up. They packed up what was left of the picnic and set the basket back on the porch before Steve led her around the side of the house. He had a small vegetable garden and an apple tree in the back yard. Not enough to sell, she noted, but enough to keep himself fed for most of the year. The barn was home to two tawny brown Jersey cows with large brown eyes and patient temperaments.</p>
<p>Darcy was in love. “They’re wonderful,” she said, reaching out a hand to scratch the thick tuft of brown hair atop one of the cow’s heads. “What are their names?”</p>
<p>Steve smiled from where he had leaned against the stall door. “That’s Olivia,” he said, motioning to the one she was petting. “And this,” he laughed as the other cow’s giant head ducked over the stall and nudged him like a dog. “Is Viola.”</p>
<p>She looked up with a grin. “From <em>Twelfth Night</em>?”</p>
<p>He nodded and scratched Viola’s ears absently. “You look surprised,” he commented.</p>
<p>“Maybe a little,” she admitted. “I wouldn’t have…expected you to have read a lot of Shakespeare,” she said realizing as she tried to choose her words carefully that it hadn’t been the kindest observation to make.</p>
<p>To her relief, Steve laughed lightly. “Thank you for that,” he said sarcastically. “It was my Ma’s favorite. She used to read the comedies to me when I was a kid.”</p>
<p>Darcy giggled, watching Viola give him another demanding nudge until he used both hands. “It’s my favorite too,” she admitted. “I played Viola in a school play once,” she added. “My parents were very proud.” She coughed. “I’m sorry,” she said, even though he’d already fluffed her off. “That sounded like I was saying you don’t seem smart. And you <em>do</em>,” she said firmly. “I just sounded like a…”</p>
<p>“City girl,” he said succinctly.</p>
<p>She blushed again. “Yeah.”</p>
<p>“You’re forgiven,” he told her easily. She was surprised how quickly the relief untwisted the knot in her stomach. “I don’t mind subverting expectations every now and then.”</p>
<p>Darcy nodded. “I will…make a note of that,” she said diplomatically. “For your ad.”</p>
<p>“Right.” She could have sworn his smile looked just a little tighter at the mention of her real reason for being there. But a moment later, he followed her gaze to the opposite side of the barn. “Do you want to see the calves?”</p>
<p>“The babies?” she corrected, pleased when he laughed again. “Yes, please.” She gave both Olivia and Viola an extra scratch before she followed him to the other stall. The door was open and she heard the rustle of hay inside. She didn’t bother to hide the way she had to suck in a deep breath at the sight of two brown calves with white spots around their dark eyes and black noses. “Hello!” she cried when they abandoned the pile of hay they’d been munching to come and greet her. “Oh, my heavens, they’re beautiful,” she said, petting each of the calves with one hand before she looked up. “Do they have Shakespearean names as well?”</p>
<p>He smiled. “Not yet; I haven’t found anything that fits them.” He extended a hand when she straightened up. “Give me your hand?”</p>
<p>Darcy stopped and tentatively extended her hand. “Why…?”</p>
<p>“Just trust me,” he shrugged and took hold of her fingers, giving her a gentle tug toward him. She frowned in confusion as he stepped closer and turned her hand so that it was palm up, facing the calves. He was close enough that she could tell that he’d ironed the blue shirt he was wearing; it looked so nice with his eyes. Close enough that she could tell he smelled like soap and salt, even in the barn. Close enough that, if she wanted to, she could stretch up on her toes and—</p>
<p>Darcy let out a shriek of surprise when a scratchy wet tongue curled around her fingers and the smaller of the two calves sucked her hand into its mouth. Her surprise fell quickly into a cascade of giggles once the shock wore off and she stumbled against Steve trying to pull her hand back. His chest was a solid wall of warm muscle and her breath stuck in her throat when his arm went around her waist to steady her.</p>
<p>He was still smiling, a laugh fresh on his lips when he looked down. In the span of only a few seconds, Darcy managed to forget about the calves and the barn and the fact that she was pretending she was here to do a job. She wanted Steve to kiss her. To sweep her up in his arms and carry her back into the house and tell her he never wanted her to leave.</p>
<p>But it was just a few seconds. Because then Steve blinked and shook his head and laughed quietly, letting her go before he bent and pried open the calf’s mouth so she could take her hand back. He offered her a handkerchief and took a respectful step out of her personal space. “Sorry,” he said, still smiling softly. “Couldn’t resist.”</p>
<p>Darcy smiled back, thoroughly wiping her hand on the cloth he’d offered. “That was <em>not</em> funny,” she lied, hoping that he didn’t notice she could hardly catch her breath.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> <em>August 4th, 1870</em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>It was so hot the first week of August that Darcy thought she might melt into a puddle at her desk. The air was thick and humid and exerting any kind of effort felt like swimming through molasses. It took everything she had that Wednesday afternoon to heave herself up from her desk and trudge upstairs with the latest corrections for Thursday’s edition.</p>
<p>Tony looked up from his desk when she knocked on the doorframe before she entered. The features writer, editor-in-chief <em>and</em> her boss, he was a brilliant, insufferable man with impeccable facial hair and a shrewd way of noticing—and commenting—on almost everything.</p>
<p>“Why are you all wet?” he asked after he’d waved her inside and had a moment to study her.</p>
<p>Darcy blinked. “Excuse me?”</p>
<p>He motioned to her wilted appearance. “Your face is…damp,” he frowned. “And your hair is…” he motioned vaguely to his own head. Darcy self-consciously patted at the frizzing, curling edges of her hair. “Is it raining?”</p>
<p>“No, it’s not raining,” she snapped. “It’s like a woodstove downstairs, Mr. Stark. I’m sweltering.”</p>
<p>He looked twice as perturbed. “Well open a window.”</p>
<p>She handed him his edits and willed herself not to lose her temper. “You gave me an office that doesn’t <em>have</em> a window, she reminded tightly.</p>
<p>“Of course I did,” he shrugged. “You’re only writing the personals; you don’t need a whole office.”</p>
<p>Darcy closed her eyes and inhaled through clenched teeth. “You really must get a handle on your split infinitives, Mr. Stark,” she said with a motion to the stack of papers in his hand. “Your features are lousy with them.”</p>
<p>He ignored her suggestion and lit a cigarette. “You find anybody a wife lately, Miss Lewis?”</p>
<p>She nodded. “A few this week, as a matter of fact.” Her favorite part of her job was the letters of gratitude she would occasionally receive from happy couples when things worked out. This week had brought two such letters to her desk—each with an invitation weddings in September. She narrowed her eyes at her boss. “How many gets me a better office?”</p>
<p>Tony scoffed. “Don’t push your luck, kid.”</p>
<p>Darcy waited until he’d dropped his eyes back to her edits before she rolled her eyes and muttered a goodbye. Her feet felt twice as heavy as she tromped back down the stairs. Daisy didn’t look up when she moved past her and returned to her little steam box and stared at the clock, wondering if Tony would mind if she went home early.</p>
<p>She dropped her head into her arms and exhaled heavily, letting her sleeve soak up the sweat on her forehead before she heard the floorboards creak in the direction of her door. “What?” she groused, not bothering to look up—knowing Daisy would be standing there with a question she didn’t want to answer.</p>
<p>“Is this a bad time?”</p>
<p>Steve’s voice had her head shooting up and a rush of embarrassment rising in her already flushed face. “No,” she said a little too quickly. “Hi,” she coughed and reminded herself that she was at least supposed to <em>try </em>to maintain an air of professionalism. “Hello. What can I do for you?”</p>
<p>The corner of his lips twitched, and he took a step inside. “Are you sure?” </p>
<p>She smiled. “Absolutely. I was just thinking about you.” She shut her eyes when his brow lifted. “Thinking about a question I wanted to ask you,” she clarified, opening them again. A lie. She’d been thinking about him. She hadn’t <em>stopped </em>thinking about him since the minute she’d met him. “The next time I saw you.”</p>
<p>He still looked uncertain as he took another step inside. “So…you wanted to talk to me anyway?”</p>
<p>She motioned for him to sit down as he had before. “But that’s not why you’re here,” she reminded. “What brings you to my office today, Steve?”</p>
<p>He reached into his pocket and retrieved a white envelope. “I came to pay a bill.”</p>
<p>“A bill?” she frowned. “You shouldn’t have a bill yet…I haven’t run the ad yet.”</p>
<p>To her surprise, Steve looked relieved. “Oh, good,” he said before he cleared his throat. “Only because you—uh—said you’d let me see a proof first.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” she nodded. “I did. So you should not have received any kind of bill from us yet.” She extended her hand. “I’ll take care of it.”</p>
<p>He passed it to her. “I appreciate that.” A brief silence passed over them before he shifted in his chair. “You had a question for me?”</p>
<p><em>No,</em> she wanted to say. <em>I don’t have any questions that are appropriate for someone who is supposed to be writing something that will find you a wife. </em>Out loud, she said. “Would you like me to mention your military service?”</p>
<p>Steve blinked. “How did you…know about my military service?”</p>
<p>She smiled. “You have very good posture,” she joked. When he laughed, she went on. “Actually I was digging in our archives for something on another story and I there was a mention of your name,” she confessed. That was true, at least. She hadn’t gone looking for any more information about Steve, but she also hadn’t stopped herself from sitting down on the floor of the archives and reading the article when she’d come across it. “You received a commendation from President Grant?”</p>
<p>He shifted again and rubbed at the back of his neck. “He just—uh—wrote my Ma a letter, I think.”</p>
<p>Darcy frowned. He had to have done more than that. According to the article, Steve had only been eighteen years old when he’d saved the lives of over a hundred of his fellow Union soldiers at Vicksburg.</p>
<p>“I don’t have to mention it,” she said after studying him for a moment.</p>
<p>“I know what that article says,” he went on after a pause. “I was just doing what anyone else would’ve done and they made it out like some act of valor or something…” he shook his head. “I was in the Army,” he shrugged, looking back up from where his eyes had dropped to his shoes. “But I never wanted to stay there and I came home the minute the war was over. If you mention it at all,” his shoulder rolled again. “Just say I fought for the right side. That’s all anyone needs to know.” He coughed again lightly. “And if anyone <em>does </em>answer it…I’m sure I’ll tell her about it some day.”</p>
<p>Darcy’s hand had stilled while she’d been reaching for her pencil. She was suddenly envious of whoever that woman was. That person Steve would trust and love enough to share this story with. Again her mind conjured up what that would be like. To sit across the table or in front of the fire with this beautiful man and peel back layers of one another until there were no more secrets between them and they knew each other inside and out.</p>
<p>Across the desk, Steve raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Was…that all?”</p>
<p>She blinked and shook her head, clearing away those traitorous thoughts. “Yes,” she lied. “I think I’ve got everything I need.”</p>
<p>He nodded and got to his feet. “All right then. Thank you again, Darcy,” he smiled kindly. “I appreciate your help.”</p>
<p>Alarmingly, Darcy felt a lump rise in her throat and she made herself smile. “Don’t thank me yet,” she said. “I haven’t written a word.”</p>
<p>Steve laughed and started for the door. He stopped and turned around, looking as though he wanted to say something. Darcy’s heart jumped while she waited. But then he closed his mouth and shook his head, a thoughtful frown pouting his lips. “Have a nice day, Miss Lewis.”</p>
<p>Her polite smile returned. “Thank you,” she said faintly forcing herself to stay in her chair until she’d heard the bell above the front door jingle and she knew he’d left for sure.</p>
<p>She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed at her nose, banishing her inconvenient emotions before she stood and picked up the envelope Steve had handed her. “Daisy,” she said, stepping out of her office. “We never bill prior to an ad running,” she set it on Daisy’s desk. “You sent this about a week too early.”</p>
<p>The younger woman took the bill back but did not look up from her ledger. “Oh. Did I?” she asked absently. “My mistake.”</p>
<p>Darcy stared at her for a moment, her head cocked to one side. “You don’t normally make billing mistakes,” she said.</p>
<p>Daisy looked up finally and offered Darcy a smile. “No,” she agreed. “I don’t.” When Darcy didn’t respond, she narrowed her eyes. “You need to at least tell him how you feel before you write that ad, Darcy.”</p>
<p>She frowned. “That’s not a good idea.”</p>
<p>“What’s not a good idea is you taking all this time to get to know this man and then wrapping him up like a present for some other woman. You know you write beautiful copy,” she continued. “How are you going to feel when you get a whole slew of letters in response?”</p>
<p>Darcy sighed and shook her head. “Just…keep a closer eye on your billing, please” she said finally and returned to her desk. She packed up her things and left early, knowing that no one but Daisy would even notice that she’d gone. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steve had nearly made it home before the urge to turn around won out and he gave Marvel a nudge to head back into town. </p>
<p>Marvel had no interest in returning to town when she was this close to home. <em>Home</em>, she seemed to say with each tempestuous tug in opposition of the reins, <em>where the oats are.</em> </p>
<p>He struggled against his irritated horse for a few minutes before he pulled up and stopped her again. What good would going back into town do? There was nothing else Darcy needed from him—she’d said exactly that in her office. If he went back, he’d have to tell her it was because he had changed his mind.</p>
<p>He didn’t want a wife anymore. At least, not any wife. Not just anyone who answered an ad in the newspaper. </p>
<p>If he went all the way back into town, he’d have to tell Darcy that he wanted <em>her</em>. And he <em>had </em>wanted her since she first popped her head around the door of the newspaper’s office, that look of amusement on her face. He wanted her busy mind and her wise-cracks and infectious laugh and soft hands and kind heart and everything else that came with her.</p>
<p>Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. It was all no good—this whole stupid thing. Darcy did not want to marry him and live here on this farm. Even if she seemed to love the cows, she wouldn’t want to give up her comfortable house in town and her job just to—</p>
<p>He stopped himself from sliding into a spiral and made himself list everything that had happened since Darcy had opened the door a month ago. </p>
<p>He had asked to place an ad, looking for a wife. </p>
<p>He had done a poor job of being able to articulate what he wanted, so Darcy had needed to get to know him better to determine what that might be.</p>
<p>She might not have had to work so hard to write something for Bucky, but Bucky had also written most of his ad himself. So of course, she hadn’t come to visit or chased him down with follow-up questions. </p>
<p>If he told her any of the feelings he’d begun to develop since he’d first set eyes on her, she would politely tell him that she was not interested and was just trying make good on the promise she’d made him to write something that found him a good match.</p>
<p>And that someone, she wouldn’t have to say, because it would be so very obvious, was not her. </p>
<p>He could tell her he just didn’t want her to run the ad at all. That he’d changed his mind entirely. Though, he considered with a frown, she might ask why. Might try to convince him to still let her write it. Might put him in a position to have to say something important—something he hadn’t had a chance to figure out how to say without tripping over the words or letting them sit, choking him at the back of his throat like they had in her office.</p>
<p>Steve dropped Marvel’s reins and let her spin back around in the direction of home. </p>
<p>He would be fine, he told himself. There was always the chance that someone equally lovely would answer the ad that Darcy wrote. Someone he’d grow to love and one day he’d look back and clap his former self on the back for keeping all these feelings to himself. </p>
<p>As if she could read his thoughts, Marvel let out a loud, unimpressed sneeze and shook her head back and forth.</p>
<p>Steve smiled faintly and patted her neck. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I don’t really think so either.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>August 8th, 1870</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>There was an outbreak of chicken pox among the children in Miss Foster’s second grade class. The house calls kept Daniel out at all hours, leaving Darcy at home to fend for herself. Most nights, the silence and loneliness of the big, creaking house would drive her crazy. But this night, she was grateful for the solitude. It offered her the time and space to talk herself in and out of what she was about to do a dozen times.</p>
<p>And it offered her the chance to pull on a pair of trousers and boots without her brother’s interference or opinion; it allowed her to scribble a note of explanation in case he came back early, allowed her to saddle up their other horse and head out of town uninterrupted.</p>
<p>She had spent the afternoon talking to herself, thinking out and talking through every possible outcome her mind could concoct.</p>
<p>But she hadn’t counted on the rain.</p>
<p>In her imagined scenarios, she arrived on Steve’s doorstep looking windswept, but still put-together. She offered him the chance to read the ad she’d written before she threw it aside and told him she had another option for him to consider.</p>
<p>Or sometimes she didn’t bother with any of that. She just threw her arms around his neck and kissed him and waited for the fallout.</p>
<p>Sometimes she offered him the ad to read, he told her it looked great and handed it back with a seal of approval, a little confused as to why she ran it over so late, and that was that. Darcy didn’t like imagining those options.</p>
<p>And it didn’t matter how many of these little scenarios she’d imagined, none of them involved the sky opening up when she was more than halfway to Steve’s house, dumping buckets of rain down from the clouds with fresh rolls of thunder every few minutes. She kicked her brother’s horse to spur him to move faster but it didn’t matter her speed, she was drenched in seconds, her hair and clothes flattened to her like a second skin.</p>
<p>There were lights in the downstairs windows when she arrived, and Darcy dismounted with a little sigh of relief despite the rain. And despite the nerves fluttering in her stomach like a swarm of angry bees. She stopped beneath the oak tree where they’d had their picnic and checked her pocket. The paper she’d folded and tucked there was still intact. Only a little damp around the edges. Still perfectly legible. She took a deep breath, willed herself to be brave, and dashed across the yard to knock on the front door.</p>
<p>Steve’s expression twisted in confusion as soon as he opened the door. “Darcy?” he asked, hand on the doorframe. “What are you doing here?”</p>
<p>“Drowning, apparently,” she laughed weakly and looked down at her soaked clothes.</p>
<p>He blinked his eyes and shook his head. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he moved away from the door and beckoned her to follow. “Come in,” he said. “Come in. You must be freezing.”</p>
<p>“No,” she shook her head and took a step over the threshold, rainwater squishing inside her boots. “It’s not so bad,” she said the moment before a chill ran up her spine and chattered her teeth.</p>
<p>Steve smiled at her lie and motioned for her follow him with a nod of his head. “Come and dry off,” he said. “Warm up a little bit.” He led her to a sitting room with a sofa and end tables in front of a fireplace. A fire had already been lit along with a gas lamp on the far side table. They filled the room with a welcoming warmth and enough light that Darcy could see the bookshelves tucked into the corners and an upright piano against the far wall.</p>
<p>She smiled faintly and bent to take off her wet shoes. “I don’t want to get your furniture wet,” she said when Steve looked like he was about to tell her it wasn’t necessary. “Or your rug,” she nodded to the thick braided rug in front of the fire. Her stockings were still soaked but she felt better already having shed her wet boots. Steve excused himself for a moment and she crossed the room to sit on the rug, wishing she had towel to wring the water out of her hair.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to sit on the floor,” Steve admonished lightly, returning with a blanket in one hand and a short glass in the other. He handed that to her first. “This’ll warm you up faster than the fire,” he said when she squinted dubiously at the inch of amber liquid at the bottom of the tumbler.</p>
<p>Cautiously, Darcy put the glass to her lips and took a sip. The whiskey bit her tongue and burned her nose like smoke, stinging the back of her throat until she swallowed and coughed. She put a hand to her chest. “What is that, paint thinner?”</p>
<p>Steve laughed and took the half-empty glass from her hand. “Easy there, sailor,” he said, setting it on the hearth as he sat down on the rug in front of her. “That’s homemade apple brandy you almost spit all over the place.”</p>
<p>She swallowed hard and fought the urge to cough again. “Yours?”</p>
<p>“No,” he shook his head. “Last time I tried to make the stuff it was twice as strong—practically lit itself on fire.” He smiled and glanced back at the glass. “A friend of mine up the road has a fairly standard recipe.” His head dipped in consideration. “But it does take a little getting used to.”</p>
<p>Despite her stinging tongue and watering eyes, Darcy had to admit he had a point. The sip she’d taken had punched her squarely in the face, but it had also warmed her all the way down to her belly and took the chatter from her teeth. But before she could thank him, Steve unfolded the blanket and draped it loosely around her shoulders. She closed her eyes and took a deep inhale when he leaned forward. He smelled so good. So warm and clean and safe. She wanted to drown in that smell. Bottle it and splash it on herself when she needed to feel comforted, secure.</p>
<p>When she needed to feel like she was home.</p>
<p>“You mind if I ask what you’re doing all the way up here in this storm?” he asked, settling back on his heels once Darcy had pulled the blanket a little tighter around her shoulders.</p>
<p>“I wanted to show you the proof,” she said, remembering suddenly that she had said this out loud to her empty house before. “We go to print on Monday—I wanted to make sure you read it so I can have it published within the timetable you were promised.”</p>
<p>Steve looked surprised. “Oh,” he said and nodded. “You…didn’t have to come all the way up here,” he said after a moment. “I would have trusted you.”</p>
<p>But Darcy shook her head and extracted the copy she’d constructed from her pocket. “I promised you a proof and a proof you shall have.” She took in a steadying breath and offered it to him.</p>
<p>Steve unfolded it slowly and read by the light of the fire. Darcy bit her lip and told herself she couldn’t hold her breath the whole time. She watched Steve’s eyes move slowly over the page. She told herself that he had no reason to dislike what she’d written, but still felt a flicker of pride and relief when she was treated to a small smile at the corner of his lips. “It’s good,” he said, after what felt like forever. “It’s…” he smiled again. “You made me sound a lot better than I am, Darcy.”</p>
<p>“No,” she shook her head. “I didn’t.”</p>
<p>He offered it back to her. “They should really let you write more than this,” he said softly. “But this is…” he glanced down at the page again. “It’s real good.”</p>
<p>“It is,” she said with a nod. “Isn’t it?” She ran her tongue over her lips and considered taking another sip from the glass on the hearth. “There’s only one problem.”</p>
<p>Steve looked up from her words. “What’s that?”</p>
<p>“I don’t want them to print it,” she said, her heart pounding so hard in her chest she was sure he could hear it. “I don’t…” she pursed her lips. “I don’t want you to…find someone else, Steve.” All the times she’d rehearsed this, she had sounded much more confident. Bolder and more certain that this would end the way she wanted it to. But here, this close to Steve with her heart sitting directly in his hands, Darcy didn’t feel very bold. Especially since he hadn’t said anything. She watched his mouth open and then close. A second time. But he still said nothing.</p>
<p>She wanted to die.</p>
<p>Mortification swept over her, chasing away the flutters of hope that she hadn’t misread the time they’d spent together. That this wasn’t a stupid, reckless thing to do. That she hadn’t just ruined everything.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” she said when she could drown in the silence no longer. “I shouldn’t have—” she shook her head and dropped her eyes. “I shouldn’t even be here. This was a—” she dropped the blanket he’d offered and started to get to her feet, wondering if she could convince Daniel’s horse to take her to the river so she could throw herself in. “Please forget I said anything…I’ll just—”  </p>
<p>“Darcy—” Steve’s voice stopped her more than the hand he put over hers. She looked up just as he leaned in and took her face in his hands, pulling her close to cover her lips with his.</p>
<p>She made a muffled sound of surprise that fell quickly into a sound deeper in her throat as she relaxed and let her hands come up to rest on his chest. She could feel his heart, fluttering just like hers, and wanted to cry from the relief that had crashed over her like a wave.</p>
<p>“Don’t go,” he breathed when he pulled away. His hands stayed, holding her face and he tipped her chin down so he could press his lips to her forehead. “Please don’t go. And don’t print that ad,” he added with a smile she could hear and feel against her skin. He kissed her closed eyes and the tops of her cheeks and the tip of her nose before he tilted her head up again and waited for her to look at him. His eyes were so clear, even in the dim light, blue and honest and hopeful. “I don’t want anyone else,” he said softly. “I just want you.”</p>
<p>Darcy’s vision swam unexpectedly, and she looked away with a wet laugh, squeezing her eyes shut before she gave up and wiped at them with the back of her wrist. “I want you too,” she whispered and leaned in to kiss him again.</p>
<p>It was a long, slow kiss; no longer tentative as Steve’s hands moved down her neck and his arms circled around her, pulling her even closer. Her hands curled around the fabric of his shirt, fisting the material between her fingers while her lips parted beneath his and the warmth in her belly doubled, setting her ablaze with a fire of hungry curiosity.</p>
<p>Steve sank back on his knees again, dragging her with him so she was in his lap, straddling his hips. His arms stayed tight around her waist, holding her against him as he pulled away from her lips and began dropping kisses to her cheek, her jaw, her neck. Her hand ran up and into his hair, her nails scraped against his scalp when he flattened his tongue against her and sucked at the spot beneath her ear. A thrill ran up her spine when she shifted and felt him pressing hard between her legs, but as Steve kissed his way back down her neck, he stopped when he reached the collar of her shirt. “Keep going,” she breathed, and squeezed his hips with her knees. She pulled back and met his eyes. “Unless you don’t want to,” she added, biting her lip.</p>
<p>“I do,” he assured her. His hand curled around the back of her neck and he pulled her in to kiss her again. She felt a smile tug at his lips. “I really do.” Steve traded her another kiss before he pulled away to look at her. “But we don’t have to—” The rest of his thought died as a sharp inhale when Darcy rolled her hips experimentally against his.</p>
<p>“I know,” she kissed him softly before she plucked open the top button of his shirt. “But I want to.” She wanted Steve so badly she could taste it; she was growing desperate with this fire smoldering somewhere at her center, burning hot in the back of her throat. She knew there’d be no relief unless Steve kept going. Kept kissing and touching her, claiming her with his lips, his tongue, his body. She wanted to be his—to possess some part of him in return.</p>
<p>His forehead was pressed to hers when he nodded and dropped his eyes to watch her fingers nimbly pop open the remainder of his shirt buttons. The rest of their clothes were discarded between hot, impatient kisses and giddy, relieved laughter until there was nothing left between them and Steve wrapped his arms around her and laid her back against the rug. His gasped when he pushed into her for the first time and she bit her lip hard, squeezing her eyes shut as her mouth fell open from the sharp pain and stretch. He stilled his hips against hers and kissed her forehead, breathing heavily until she opened her eyes and nodded and he pulled out slowly, sliding into a slow, steady rhythm that only felt measured and right and <em>good</em> and had Darcy forgetting that she’d ever been uncomfortable.</p>
<p>Steve’s lips fell to hers again as they moved together. Her legs wrapped around his narrow waist and her nails scratched at his back and she rolled her hips up to meet each thrust of his. There was a prickle of sweat at his hair line when he pushed himself up onto his arms and looked down at her, his eyes raking down her body to where they were joined. “You’re so beautiful,” he said softly, almost reverently drinking her in as he moved inside her.</p>
<p>Darcy shifted beneath him and reached up to push his hair out of his face. She ran her thumb over his plush lips and then closed her eyes, arching her back and drawing her fingers down her belly to slip between them. “Keep going,” she whispered again when he slowed down. She felt his eyes on her when she began to rub at her clit and he sped up his pace again. After a moment, she felt his hand fall over hers and she opened her eyes in surprise when he moved his fingers in time with hers so they were rubbing her together.</p>
<p>“Is that what you want?” he asked, his breath coming out in short huffs. “There?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” she nodded furiously and dropped her hand away. “Yes. Please don’t stop.”</p>
<p>“I won’t,” he promised, moving his fingers faster, pressing down harder while his hips snapped against hers. “I want to make you feel good.”</p>
<p>Darcy’s hands curled against the rug and her body went rigid as she came hard, clenching around him with a cry of surprise until the warm release rolled through her limbs and she felt weak and wrung out. It was only a moment later that Steve pulled his hand from between them and his hips jerked out of rhythm. He fell forward and buried his face in her neck, murmuring something she couldn’t understand against her skin.</p>
<p>They clung to one another, breathing hard and sticky with sweat for what felt like a long time before Steve pushed himself back up and pulled out to lay beside her. She had grown too used to him and missed his weight immediately. She watched as he rolled to his side and propped his head on one hand, the other drifted over to her face to push her wet hair out of her eyes. She reached up and held that hand with hers, turning to press a kiss to his rough palm. “You meant it, didn’t you?” she asked softly. “You want me to stay?”</p>
<p>Steve’s thumb brushed across her cheek as he nodded. “Forever,” he said. She watched his throat bob with a hard swallow. “If that’s what you want.”</p>
<p>She bit her bottom lip and smiled, feeling suddenly shy at the gravity of what they were saying. “Do you still want to get married in the fall?”</p>
<p>He smiled softly and lean over to kiss her. “I’d marry you tomorrow if I could.”</p>
<p>Darcy giggled. “Tomorrow is Sunday,” she reminded him before he kissed her again. “But I’d marry you on Monday, if you asked.”</p>
<p>So Steve asked.</p>
<p>And Darcy accepted.</p>
<p>And they were married on Monday.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>-<em>fin-</em> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Come and plaaaaaaay:</p>
<p>Tumblr: @idontgettechnology / @ishipitpod<br/>Podcast: ishipitpod.com</p>
<p>&lt;3 &lt;3 &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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